


Moving on Together

by Banashee



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo ROUND 2 [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bullying, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Cuddling & Snuggling, Deaf Clint Barton, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Survivor Guilt, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:29:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28269903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Banashee/pseuds/Banashee
Summary: (...)“I’m sorry I can’t give you anything more helpful. Fuck.” He laughs, but it’s not a happy sound.“It was about a week for me. I can’t imagine 70-odd years...”“Hey, no. It’s not a competition. It just sucks.” carefully, he reaches out with one hand. Clint doesn’t pull away - on the contrary, he returns the grip on Bucky’s flesh hand and doesn’t let go.“Thank you, Clint, for telling me. It means a lot.”(...)-Mind control is hard - especially dealing with the aftermath of it. Clint, as well as Bucky, have their struggles with it, and not just the undeserved reputation they get for the things they did while being brainwashed. It makes them grow closer together and unsurprisingly, they fall in love.-Bad Things Happen BingoSquare 4/25: Undeserved Reputation
Relationships: Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo ROUND 2 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1981954
Comments: 2
Kudos: 53
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	Moving on Together

**Author's Note:**

> Bad Things Happen Bingo - Round 2!  
> Originally, I had this aaaall planned out as a NaNoWriMo project, but I decited to scrap that. Instead, I'll just write little snippets for each prompt and safe the larger ideas for another time. I'll write them - one day...  
> *Looks at giant pile of unfinished ideads and projects*  
> *nervous laughter dissolving into desperate sobbing*  
> -
> 
> As always, I'm crossposting these stories on my Tumblr.  
> https://banashee.tumblr.com/
> 
> You can get your own Bingo Card over at  
> https://badthingshappenbingo.tumblr.com/
> 
> The cover for this fic was made with a free to use photo from unsplash

****

****

**Moving on together**

The people at SHIELD know better than to outright bully someone. No, they are way more subtle about it. Usually. 

Clint doesn’t expect anything less than cold, dirty looks when he sets foot onto the Helicarrier for the first time since the Battle of New York. For the first time since Natahsa knocked him unconscious to get Loki out of his brain, the first time since the world almost ended.

It is bound to be an interesting day.

Piercing eyes glare as Clint is making his way past, but no one dares to say anything. He is walking with the other Avengers and he is well aware that this is the only reason they keep it down. Once they’ll get him alone, well. That will be another story.

He can’t hear them - his aids are good, but they are not _that_ finetuned - but he knows that there are whispers and hushed conversations as soon as his back is turned. Very carefully, he doesn’t react. His fingers are twitching in an attempt not to curl into fists and his jaw is clamped shut so tightly that it makes his teeth and muscles hurt. Under different circumstances, Clint wouldn’t care about them. 

Any other day, if only things had gone differently, he would be a lot more level headed, but as it is, Clint is responsible for a lot of deaths, injuries and damages. Mind controlled or not, it doesn’t matter. Certainly not to his - former? - coworkers.

The thoughts make his heart race way too fast, and Clint is faintly aware that his hands are getting sweaty.

The next time he’s at SHIELD, he is alone but the rest is pretty much the same. Looks, distant muttering he can’t make out. In the meeting room, no one wants a seat close to him and people do their best to ignore his presence whenever possible - talking over him, not passing the relevant papers to him - it’s small things like that, but Clint notices. Of course he does. 

He keeps his face neutral and pretends like it doesn’t sting.

When Clint walks out that night, in a half dark, empty hallway, he isn’t surprised when the group of four Agents jumps him. 

“Traitor” they call him while two of them hold him in place while the others break his nose and dislocate a kneecap. There are other, much more crass and personal insults, but “traitor” sticks - it hits a nerve. 

Clint doesn’t even try to fight back, and that’s probably the worst part. He deserves this, he thinks, so he doesn’t even bother to fight them off. Maybe they’ll leave it once they get the anger out of their systems. 

The attack doesn’t take long, but Clint knows how little time is really necessary to cause damage.

The other Agents leave him in the dark hallway, bleeding, dizzy and in pain. It’s only when Fury himself of all people comes across him, that he is brought into medical. The director doesn’t say anything that Clint could remember, and his face is unreadable as always. 

They treat his injuries and treat him like air after that. Clint isn’t surprised.

He leaves right after. No one stops him from limping down the hallway and out into the night.

Clint is empty and numb. He forgets to take his painkillers, forgets to eat. The painkillers barely make a dent, anyway. He wasn’t given anything by SHIELD doctors, so he has to make do with over the counter stuff. It’s a joke.

All he wants to do is sleep for about a year, but not even that works out. 

If he wasn’t so goddamn tired, he probably would have seriously hurt himself by now. He’s not sure if it’s a good thing that he doesn’t. 

Soon after, the world security council finally gets tired of waiting. Clint knows this, and truth be told, he’d expected to be taken away and locked up much, much sooner. But it happens, and just like when he was attacked, he doesn’t resist.

They constantly prob him with questions and needles, voices just as cold as their touch. Clint answers questions mechanically, wondering when it’ll stop and what they’re going to do to him. He hopes that at least, it'll be quick.

What he doesn’t expect is to be sent off with a slap on the back after three months.

There must be a mistake, he thinks, and even back home in his apartment, Clint can’t sleep, can’t relax. People are calling him, but he never answers. At some point, he opens a message from an unknown number:

_“Since you’re not answering calls: Drop by the Tower any time you want to, we’re bringing the band together. Speaking of, bring Romanoff, she keeps ignoring me.”_

Must be Stark, he figures, but isn’t sure what to say. So he just types,

_“OK”_

and throws his phone back onto the table. 

Clint stays awake for days on end, until he physically can’t handle it for any longer and passes out. If he is lucky, he ends up on the couch or in bed. He’ll curl up on the bathroom floor if he’s not.

Any given time, he expects to be taken away again and he can barely breathe with fear.

When one day, his front door opens and the vibrations of footsteps come closer, he expects rough hands and a cold voice. A blade against his throat, the nozzle of a gun against his temple, anything. 

What he doesn’t expect is Natasha in his personal space. 

“Oh, hi.” His voice feels like sandpaper.

“Did they send you to finish me off?” Clint asks her, and stares at him in disbelief for a moment. Then, a deep sadness seems to be radiating off of her.

“No, of course not.” she looks right at him, making it easier to read lips. Natasha reaches out, slowly enough for him to pull away - he doesn’t. Her touch against his cheek is the most warm and gentle thing he’s felt in months, and Clint can’t help but lean into it. He hadn't even realized how touch-starved he must have been the whole time.

Natasha leans into him, too. Open and unguarded affection is rare with her, but Clint has always been one of the very few lucky people to recieve it. Despite their history, he still isn’t sure he deserves it.

“And even if they did - I wouldn’t do it. I’m sorry I couldn’t be here sooner.”

Natasha moves closer, until they sit in a tight embrace. Clint isn’t 100% sure, but he is quite certain that both of them are crying. Most importantly though, he believes her. How could he not? His best friend is all he’s got left at this point. 

*+~

It’s a strange thing, how so many years spent frozen in cryo, again and again after each mission, can leave such an impression. When it comes down to it, Bucky wasn’t awake for more than a few years at most, but it feels a lot longer than that. He feels older than he is - tired. So tired of everything that life has thrown on him.

Due to some sort of miracle, Bucky manages to escape from Hydra for long enough to become a little bit more Bucky and a little less Soldier. The longer it lasts, the more he remembers, and he is terrified out of his mind. 

He doesn’t sleep - instead, he watches the news on a grainy, old TV in the little apartment he found, reads the papers.

They’re looking for him, wanting to lock him up for all of the murders and crimes. Bucky can’t blame them - he knows how much of a security risk he is, hence him staying away from people as much as he can. Part of him agrees that he should be locked up in a windowless cell to rot. The other, slightly selfish part of him wants to experience freedom, wants to live. Just live, nothing more. 

None of the things he did for Hydra was his choice. But then again, the Soldier doesn’t know choice, only obedience. Bucky is tired of it.

Sometimes, he thinks back to that fateful day in DC. He’d almost killed Steve, then. That in itself is bad enough, but the worst part is, the stubborn bastard would have let him.

This, of all things, scares Bucky the most. It’s why he hides from Steve, too, because he knows he is trying to find him. 

Eventually, he does.

How in the world Steve manages to convince him to come with him to the Avengers Tower in Manhattan, he couldn’t tell. It might have something to do with the fact that he always had a hard time to say “no” to his best friend - 90 pounds soaking wet or built like a brick wall, it doesn’t matter. On the inside, he’s still the stubborn, loyal kid from Brooklyn who is family to him. He’ll always love that guy, no matter what, so he finally agrees to come with him.

“Home”, Steve says, but this might be pushing it. Bucky will be happy if he doesn’t accidentally kill anybody when he next freaks out.

When he first arrives there, tense and ready to bolt at any second, things don’t go nearly as bad as he’d feared. No one seems to be worried or awkward, which is impressive. They simply welcome him, as if he was any other new housemate and that’s it - if the surprise is showing on his face, no one comments on it. 

Steve shows him around for a bit, which he is grateful for. Having someone he knows close by helps, and he relaxes a bit. At least, he does until he finds out that they gave him an apartment big enough to fit any entire army - all for himself. Bucky is more than a little overwhelmed by it. He’s never had so much space for himself, never would have dared to dream of it. But now it’s given to him, just like that, and he can’t help but blurt out

“I don’t deserve this - Steve, there must be a mistake, this can’t be for me”

“It is, Buck. It’s all yours. You deserve nice things.” Steve gently puts an arm around him and Bucky dives into the hug, if only to hide the fact that he is starting to tear up. 

Getting used to being a person again is hard.

After the majority of hydra’s brainwashing has worn off, Bucky has spent those days and weeks in a constant state of either numb or terrified and very little in between. Always tense, always on the lookout for another threat.

Now, he is in a safe environment with people who know who he is and what he did and they don’t seem to mind. It’s strange, to walk into a room and get offered a seat, a drink or a plate of food - whatever it is that everyone else is having.

At first, he doesn’t talk much, and people seem to accept that. As it is, Stark talks enough on his own for all of them combined, so that helps, too. Bucky likes to listen, though, just being part of the group without inserting himself too much. It works, for the most part, but some days, he can’t stand being in the company of others for too long. He gets anxious then, and Steve especially worries about him. But even though he knows he means well, Steve hovering and trying with everything he’s got to fix everything wrong doesn’t help at all. Most days, Bucky doesn’t have the heart to tell him this.

One particularly bad day, Bucky hides in a utility closet of all places when he can hear his best friend calling for him. He means well, he knows that, but he just can’t deal with his hovering now. So Bucky leaps to the nearest door, opens it and closes it behind him as quickly and quietly as humanly possible. He finds himself in a dark, cramped room and he almost gets hit with a mop when he turns to what he hopes might be something usable to sit on. Only, it’s soft and when he lowers himself the “chair” clears its throat and then says, 

“So, this is awkward.”

Bucky almost jumps out of his skin, but he is ridiculously proud that he didn’t start screaming - or more likely, throwing punches.

“Fuck! I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize you were in here.” he scrambles up from what he is pretty sure was Barton’s lap, almost knocking over a bucket with cleaning supplies.

“No harm done. Are you ok?” Clint asks, and scoots over to the side to make space for Bucky to sit down before he breaks his neck on a broom or something.

The ridiculousness of the situation actually startles a bark of laughter out of Bucky - it’s been a long time.

“Sorry. I’m just… Hiding, I guess. What about you?”

“Same.” 

Bucky can feel the other man shrug next to him, and he looks over in his direction. His eyes are slowly getting used to the dark. 

“How come?” he finds himself asking, before he can even stop himself. ‘This is none of your business’ he scolds himself in the privacy of his own head, but there is nothing about this situation that isn’t weird. To his great surprise, Clint actually answers. 

“Had a meeting at SHIELD. It… didn’t go too well… I guess I don’t want to answer any questions about it or see anyone getting mad on my behalf. It is what it is.” he shrugs again, but he doesn’t sound half as casual as he is trying for. 

Bucky has read his file - he’s read everyone's file - and his guess is that this is absolutely fair. He wouldn’t want to talk, either. As a matter of fact, he is hiding for very similar reasons.

“Yeah, I get that.” he says, leaning his head on the wall behind him, closing his eyes for a moment.

Next to him, Clint hums in agreement.

“You would.” and then, after a pause, he continues, “Hey, tell you what. If you ever get tired of hanging out next to the cleaning supplies, there is a pretty decent access point to the rooftop near the elevator at my level. The view is nice.”

This is not what Bucky expected to hear at all and it takes him off guard. It’s not just a nice gesture, it’s the offer to use a (more or less) secret hiding place where people won’t come looking right away.

“Thank you.” he says quietly. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“No. I get the urge to get away when things are shitty, so…” he shrugs. “Besides, I don’t mind your company.”

With that, and a light tap to his metal shoulder, Clint get’s up, climbs over the fallen mop and to the door before Bucky can say anything to that last statement. Then, Clint turns around, with a mischievous grin on his face.

“I could make a real corny joke about coming out of the closet right now.”

Laughing kinda hurts his throat, but it feels so good to be able to do this - Bucy surprises himself with it.

“You’re terrible!” he accuses, but doesn’t mean it at all.

“I know. See ya around, Barnes.”

The next time they meet, it’s fuck-o clock in the morning and Bucky is staring at the toaster oven in the communal kitchen as if attempting to set it on fire with his eyes. The bagels in it are not impressed and don’t toast any quicker.

Clint is shuffling past Bucky, with a low grunt that could mean just about everything, and makes a beeline for the coffee machine. The noise and movement is enough for Bucky to stop glaring at his food and look over though.

Clint looks like a hot mess - well, more so than he usually does. He’s in pyjamas that could stay up on their own at this point, and his hair sticks up in every direction, as if he spent a good amount of time tossing and turning in bed before giving up on sleep. The purple bags under his eyes are another indicator for that.

He watches silently, as Clint pours not one or two, but six whole espresso shots into one of the giant mugs they keep in the kitchen. Bucky’s eyebrows disappear into his hairline.

“Does that even taste good?” he asks, unsurprised when Clint shakes his head.

“No. But it works.” He shrugs, trying to seem casual, but he can’t hide the tremors in his hands as he pours mug after mug in the bigger one on the counter. 

‘Do you want to talk?’ is a dumb question, for one, and Bucky can already guess that the answer is ‘no’ so he doesn’t ask it. He knows these kinds of nights - hell, he is having one himself, hence the midnight snack. 

The ‘pling’ of the toaster oven makes both of them jump a bit, and Bucky prepares his food while Clint starts making another mug of too-much-espresso for himself.

Both of them sit down by the table, eventually. They don’t talk, but having silent company of someone who understands, makes breathing a little easier.

When the sun goes up behind the large windows in the living room, they start a pot of coffee and then leave the kitchen. As they depart, they do so with a slight shoulder bump and nothing more.

But meeting up in sleepless nights becomes a thing after that.

The next time, Bucky is actually hiding again. 

About half an hour earlier, he wakes up drenched in sweat, clawing at his throat and screaming from a very vivid nightmare. This right here is the reason he avoids sleep whenever he can. 

Faintly, he can make out JARVIS asking him if he is in need of assistance, but Bucky shakes his head ‘no’ vehemently. He doesn’t want anyone to see him like this, not even Steve. 

He knows he’d come to comfort and stay with him in a heartbeat, but he’ll worry. More so than he already does, and Bucky doesn’t want that for him. His best friend is happy, and he doesn’t deserve to be dragged down. Steve would very much disagree and he knows it. 

So, Bucky remains alone in bed, hands fisted into the sheets and letting the storm pass over him.

When his breathing is more even again, he’s got a headache and he’s still shaky, but Bucky knows that staying here won’t help. He needs some air - and also a place to hide out for a bit.

The conversation with Clint the other day comes back to his mind, but he hesitates. Should he really go there? Well, it was offered to him, after all.

He gets out of bed and into the elevator.

Just like Clint said, the access point is pretty easy to find - for people like them who are always on the lookout. Bucky climbs up, and the night air hits him in the face. It feels good - soothing. 

With a sigh, he sits down on the concrete floor and leans against the wall. 

The sight really is beautiful - he can see pretty far from up here, and the lights of the city below have their own charme. It’s different than he is used to - much louder, busier and a lot more neon lights, but it’s not bad. New York is still home, after all.

His thoughts are particularly overwhelming that night. Bucky’s brain is a mess on a good day, and trying to sort it out is hard. Memories are chopped and muddled. Sometimes, he can’t make out faces or voices of people he knows were important to him while others stand out clear as a day.

Bucky can’t remember what his Mom looked like, or if he had sisters, but he’ll always remember the faces of the people he killed. Every single one of them.

‘ _I’m sorry_ ’ he thinks, over and over, ‘ _I’m so sorry_.’

He still hasn’t found a therapist that doesn’t make his skin crawl, as much as he would like to. How someone would even attempt to treat him, he doesn’t know, but damn it if he doesn’t want to try. Bucky wants to _live_ , not just survive. 

There is a painful lump in his throat, choking him up. He is trying as hard as he can to swallow it, but fails. 

The concrete under him and behind him is hard, and not very comforting and he keeps whispering his mantra, ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry’ over and over again, until his voice gives out and all he can do is hold onto sanity with the tips of his fingers. 

He doesn’t realize that there are steps coming closer, and he doesn’t realize that someone is calling for him until they change up “Bucky” for “James”

“...James? Are you with me?”

Clint, he realizes, and nods. 

“Okay, that’s, that’s good. Can you breathe? Slowly. In - hold - out - in… Yeah, like that. You’re doing well.” He keeps talking to him, like there is nothing odd about it, kneeling on the floor near Bucky, who is equal parts mortified and grateful. Without realizing it, Bucky leans forward until his forehead hits something warm and solid. Human contact - it’s nice. He didn’t get a lot of that in the last few years. 

A hand is carefully rubbing his shoulder, and Bucky leans into it without even realizing. Then, Clint asks quietly,

“Is it okay when I come closer?” and Bucky just nods. A moment later, a pair of warm, strong arms wraps around him and he practically melts into the embrace. It’s been a long time since he let himself be held like that, but it feels so good - he doesn’t want it to stop. So, he just does the next logical thing and hugs back.

After a while, breathing is a lot easier, and he doesn’t feel as cold anymore. 

“Hey. Can I ask you something?” Bucky asks later that night, when he is still sitting on the roof, next to Clint who has kept him company the whole time.

He blinks, and nods slowly. 

“Yeah, sure.”

For a moment, Bucky hesitates.

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“...Okay?”

For a while, neither of them says anything. Clint is almost sure that Bucky changed his mind about the question, but then he fixes him with a desperate look in his eyes, and it tells Clint enough so that he can just prepare for it, before Buck asks him,

“How do you cope with it? The Mind Control.”

Clint stays silent for a bit. He is trying to keep his emotions in check, telling himself that he is safe, he is himself and those days are over. Talking about this is hard, and for good reason.

“Honestly? I don’t.” he confesses, forcing himself to look at Bucky. Under normal circumstances, he’d have brushed off a question like this, but this is different - Bucky is different. He understands better than most people what it is like, to be trapped in the back of your mind while someone else takes over, takes control.

“It’s… hard. I was in therapy. Didn’t help much, but that’s because I don’t trust the SHIELD shrinks. It’s a whole thing… And finding someone else is…” He shakes his head, wiping one hand over his face. He hates talking about this, but he figures any common ground might help Bucky.

“I learned to live with it. Kinda. Not well, but. I’m still kickin’, so that’s gotta be worth something. Having something to do and people around you, who you can count on helps. A lot. But… It’s been years. I still have to deal with it. Some days more than others.”

He looks over to Bucky, who listens to every word with an intense stare that is almost uncomfortable. 

“I’m sorry I can’t give you anything more helpful. Fuck.” He laughs, but it’s not a happy sound.

“It was about a week for me. I can’t imagine 70-odd years...”

“Hey, no. It’s not a competition. It just sucks.” carefully, he reaches out with one hand. Clint doesn’t pull away - on the contrary, he returns the grip on Bucky’s flesh hand and doesn’t let go.

“Thank you, Clint, for telling me. It means a lot.”

After this one meeting on the roof, the two of them have grown a lot closer. They still don’t talk very much about what happened to them, but knowing that there is another person who understands, really understands what it feels like to be violated in this way - it helps. Bucky and Clint keep each other company whenever possible, spending days together, snarking over the comms when they’re in their respective perches, sharing drinks or snacks at night in their favourite hiding spots, when the company of other people is too much.

They also learn that sleeping together helps to keep their nightmares at bay - at least a bit.

It all starts out one night, where most of the team is out of town for various reasons, and the two of them pretty much have the tower to themselves. Bucky isn’t up for much, and he is curled up on his couch, watching a movie that doesn’t really interest him but is considered a classic, so he vows to suffer through it at least once.

He is almost relieved when a knock on his door interrupts him, but that only lasts until his eyes stop by the clock - it’s two in the morning. Shit.

Bucky is at the door in a matter of seconds, and when he opens it, he is greeted with a very sorry sight.

Clint is standing in front of him, dressed in old, wrinkled pyjamas and he’s shaking like a leaf. His eyes are wide, terrified and rimmed red. He tries to form a sentence, but it gets stuck in his throat, almost turning into a sob. Without thinking, Bucky pulls him into his arms and inside.

He never finds out what exactly was bothering him that night, but the two of them do end up wrapped in blankets and around each other on the couch, with the muted TV still flickering. The caps are on, in case Clint wants to distract himself. He doesn’t wear his ears at the time, and he isn’t really interested in reading anything, be it caps or lips. As it is, he simply holds onto Bucky while he is trying to calm down, trying to ground himself. 

One arm remains tightly wrapped around the other man’s waist, while his other hand is moving constantly. He is drawing invisible patterns on his back with light fingertips, and it seems to help him. Bucky himself is enjoying the physical contact a lot, and if he wasn’t so focused on making sure that his friend is okay, he would have fallen asleep on the spot. Instead, he keeps himself busy by playing with the dirty blond strands of hair, combing his fingers through them again and again, even when all the little knots are gone. 

Eventually, both of them drift off into sleep. Surprisingly enough, there are no more nightmares for either of them that night.

It’s a thing after this. They spend the nights together whenever possible, falling asleep wrapped around a warm body and holding each other through the nightmares that lurk in the dark corners of their subconsciousness. Company doesn’t erase the trauma or the memories, but it makes it a lot easier to deal with. 

The team notices how much better the two of them are doing, too. They seem happy and relieved for them, and occasionally say as much. 

“Are you going to tell him?” Natasha asks one evening, from where she is sitting on the carpet in front of Clint while he is braiding and twisting her long red curls into a complicated updo. He hums questioningly, trying not to accidentally swallow one of the hairpins that he’s holding in between his teeth. 

“James.” she clarifies, and takes a sip of her tea. 

“Tell him what?” Clint asks, and pins another strand of hair in place. He has a feeling where this might go, and he can feel the heat of a blush creeping up his neck. Thank god Nat doesn’t face him right now - not that she needs to. She knows him better than anyone else.

“A hundred bucks say he feels the same as you.” Nat replies instead of answering his question, and Clint huffs a laugh.

“Well, just one BuckY would be enough for me, you know.” 

“See, there you go.” she replies, sounding way too smug. And really, when Natasha turns around, there is a lopsided smile on her face, slightly mischievous. 

With a heavy sigh, Clint picks up more hair pins from the side table.

“I don’t want to fuck up what we have now. It’s… I trust him, and I like him. A lot. And he trusts me, too, at least as far as I can tell.”

“Of course he does. You two understand each other in a way that not many people do.”

“You understand, Tasha.”

“Yes, but I don’t want to sleep with either of you.”

“That’s your loss.” Clint is grinning, always happy to make corny jokes. 

“Oh well, I’ll live.” Natasha is laughing now, and he does, too. For a moment, Clint rests a cheek on her shoulder and she leans into him. The two of them hold onto each other for a bit. 

They may not always agree with one another, but they’ve called the other family long before any other person earned that title. They know each other, in a bone deep understanding that is rare for most people. After so many years, there is nothing left but love, trust and honesty. 

“You two are good for each other, you know. It’s nice to see that, and you deserve to be happy.”

Later that night, kneeling on his couch with a towel in both hands, Clint is carefully drying off Bucky’s soaked, tangled mess of hair. He just came in from a thunderstorm and resembled a wet, pissed off cat, up until Clint offered to help out. 

Doing other people's hair is relaxing, helps him to calm down and focus. Physical contact plays a big part in it, of course, but so does the activity itself. The other plus is that the people he is with tend to enjoy being taken care of, so it’s an arrangement that makes both of them happy.

Natasha went out with Pepper for a Lady’s Night in a local bar, hence the styling, and Bucky just spent the day with Steve and Sam around town. The weather turned on their way back, and naturally, no one carried an umbrella. 

So when Bucky turns up on Clint’s doorstep, soaking wet and with a dark scowl, he steers him straight towards the bathroom, throwing a big towel over the heater and a change of clothes into the sink on the way there, telling him to get warmed up.

“Trying to get me out of my clothes already, huh?” Bucky jokes, with is met with 

“I’ll buy you dinner, first.” and then the door is thrown shut behind him so he can shower and change in peace. 

‘ _Jeez Barton, obvious much._ ’ Clint thinks on his way to the kitchen, where he starts a pot of coffee for both of them and tries very hard to stay busy and not think too much. 

A few minutes later, the coffee is done and Bucky is sitting in front of Clint, head slightly tilted back for him to reach. He is wearing his borrowed clothes, which are a bit short on him, but luckily, Clint likes his lounge clothes big and comfy, unlike the tight shirts he tends to wear out. Bucky would have burst those at the seams, especially with the metal arm. He is not that much taller than Clint, and the archer is far from scrawny, but it doesn’t change the fact that Bucky can pick him up like a sack of potatoes when he wants to. 

Damn supersoldiers. 

Clint squeezes the rest of the water out of Bucky’s hair with a towel, careful to get every single strand of it. Then he starts to detangle the knots with his fingers, gently running them through the thick, dark hair that is long enough to reach past Bucky’s shoulders by now. 

The feeling of fingers running through his hair, tugging gently and massaging his scalp make him melt into the touch. He soaks up every bit of gentle touch and tenderness like a sponge, and by the time his hair is only slightly damp and brushed through completely, his head has fallen back against Clint’s chest and he hums happily, especially because the touch doesn’t stop once his hair is done. Clint keeps running his fingers through his hair, occasionally brushing a cheek with his thumb and stroking over the bit of stubble there, and Bucky loves every second of it. 

He didn’t think he’d get to experience something like this ever again, let alone be comfortable with someone coming this close to him. But he is lucky enough to be here, and that means the world to him.

It’s moments like this where Bucky thinks he should just say something - tell Clint how he feels, in the hopes that it’s mutual. Which, if he is to believe Natasha and Steve, who have both been bugging him like annoyingly correct shoulder-angels, is the case. 

“Are you about to fall asleep on me?” Clint asks him with a hint of humor in his voice, but he keeps scratching his scalp and his hands are so incredibly warm, it’s all Bucky can do to hum in agreement and snuggle closer. 

He realizes that suddenly, he is pulled sideways, but doesnt protest, because it means that both of them are laying down now, which only gives him better access to snuggle into Clint, who puts away his ears and wraps a blanket around both of them. Once they’re settled, he keeps stroking his hair.

“You’re the best.” he tells him sleepily, and smiles into the soft shirt under his head when the other man buries his nose in his hair. Clint wouldn’t have heard that last part, but the sentiment seems to come across. 

Outside the window, the rain keeps splattering against the glass, lulling them to sleep. The rain, and the calm, even breathing of one another are the last thing either of them can make out before drifting off. Although for Bucky, whose head is still pillowed on Clint’s chest, the heartbeat under him is probably the biggest source of comfort. 

Unfortunately, no matter how happy Bucky was before falling asleep, his subconciousness is always ready to fuck him over. He wakes up thrashing and screaming, only realizing where he is when gentle hands catch his flying fists and a familiar voice next to his ear says,

“Bucky, you are safe. You are at home in the tower, in my apartment and you are safe. No one is attacking, you are safe. Please keep breathing. I’m here, I got you. I got you…”

Home… He’s home. With Clint, who is holding him and stroking his hair again, reassuring him that he is safe. 

Zola is nowhere to be found, because that time is long over, and his arm is okay - the old, heavy thing that Hydra gave him is long gone and replaced by a better, much lighter one from Tony Stark, because Bucky has a new life now, where he is safe… He’s got friends, a family even… He’s safe…

Only belatedly, he realizes that he is crying, but even if he tried to, he wouldn’t be able to stop. The hug around him tightens, and he is pretty sure that his hold on Clint is too hard, it probably hurts him, and he tries to soften his grip. But then the fear overcomes him, and he holds on as tightly as he can, shaking violently with fear. 

“It’s okay, I’m here. Not going anywhere… I’m here Bucky, and I love you. I’m here, you’re safe…”

The three words almost don’t register with him, but a part of him notices, and despite everything, they spread warmth through his entire body. Bucky presses closer, allowing himself to let everything out until he feels more like himself again. He is exhausted though, so before he can say or do anything, he falls back asleep. 

Over coffee and breakfast the next morning, he asks,

“What you said last night. Did you mean it?”

“Hm?” Clint looks up at him, not quite awake yet.

“When I was freaking out. You were calming me down and said-”

“Oh. _Oh_! Yes, of course I - I mean that. Because I do… Love you. Didn’t mean to tell you like that, but, yeah. I do.”

Hearing this is the best thing that happened to him in a long time - Bucky reaches out to get a hold of Clint and he lets him. He’s still stammering, but smiles as soon as Bucky takes his hand in his own. Something eases in his chest.

“I love you, too. Wanted to tell you for ages…”

They close the distance between them and the breakfast is forgotten on the table. The world around them seems to have come to a stop, and they’re perfectly content with that.

“...Can I kiss you?”

“Yes!” before he can say anything else, the last few inches of distance are crossed and their lips meet. This first kiss between them is a soft and gentle thing. Reassuring, steady. Tasting a bit like the coffee they just drank.

After a while, they grow hungry for more, and Clint is straddling his lap. He is rewarded with strong arms wrapped around him and by the time they break apart, their coffee has gotten cold. But it doesn’t matter because they are happy and giddy, like teenagers in love. 

This happiness seems to be radiating off of them, or maybe the goofy smile on both of their faces are telling on them. Either way, when they enter the common kitchen, they are met with a quick look from Tony, who just nods to himself, says, “finally” and then there is money exchanged between several people at the table. Most of it goes to Natasha, naturally, who looks satisfied but also shoots both of them a genuine smile. 

Later that day, Steve catches Clint in the hallway, but the expected shovel talk doesn’t happen. Instead, he pulls the archer into a bone crushing hug that lifts him off of his feet. When he puts him back to the floor, Clint is utterly confused, but Steve just beams at him.

“I haven’t seen Buck this happy since the 40s!” he hugs him again. “You two are good for each other. Thank you - for being there for him.”

“Thanks, uh- I’m glad to have him, too.”

“If you’re both happy, that’s all I care about.” and with a clap to his shoulder, the Captain has disappeared into the elevator,waving at him as the door closes.

When Clint joins Bucky on the couch in front of the running TV, he nuzzles into him and says,

“Your Bestie is like an excited puppy. It’s kinda adorable.”

“What, did he launch into a cheesy speech of happiness?” 

“He hugged me. Twice in a span of like, a minute. And yes, he did launch into that speech. How much money did Tasha win in the bet?” 

Bucky laughs and pulls Clint closer to himself. He is ridiculously happy right now. 

“She didn’t tell, but she said she’ll spring for dinner some time.”

“Sweet.”

One evening, a little later down the road, they’re walking hand in hand underneath old street lights. It’s getting colder now, what with fall slowly approaching. There are barely any people around, which is rare enough here in the city. 

They’re in good spirits, having come from a dinner date and decided to go for a walk after, and take their time. 

They laugh and joke, talking about everything and nothing. It doesn’t matter - they’re happy, much, much happier than either of them has been in a very long time, and they stop under one of the lights to share another kiss, holding each other close. When they move along to get home, they walk just a little bit closer to each other.

The last few weeks have been hard. There have been news articles, twitter posts, anything and anyone with an public opinion writing about the two of them since paparazzi have managed to get a shot of them holding hands while entering the back door to the tower.

There are the typical homophobic idiots opening their big stupid mouths, but those don’t bother Clint or Bucky very much, because they know they’re wrong. What’s worse and much more hurtful are people who try to dig up dirt about either one or both of them, falling back onto the crimes they committed while being mind controlled. 

It hurts, in a deep and personal way, and it makes going out on the streets a lot harder than it was before. Let alone SHIELD - Clint avoids going there at all costs. He still couldn’t shake off the undeserved reputation after the Battle of New York, and the recent news articles have only made it worse. As for Bucky, it is pretty much the same. Many people simply don’t care or think enough to distinguish between the Soldier and James Barnes. 

Some time has passed since the first articles hit, and while the talk hasn’t died down by any means, some days are better than others. 

They manage, with the love and support of their team, and of course, each other. They’re simply moving on together. 

  
  


*+~

Prompt: Undeserved Reputation

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings:  
> \- Attack/violence/blood  
> \- PTSD  
> \- suicidal thoughts  
> \- Loss of control  
> \- Panic Attacks, Anxiety  
> \- neglect from medical personnel  
> \- Survivors guilt  
> \- Trauma  
> \- Bullying  
> \- references to homophobia


End file.
